Professor McGonagall sighed deeply as she sank slowly into the chair behind her desk. She took her index fingers and massaged her temples trying to relive the headache she always seemed to get this time of year.
First years, she groaned at the though, oh those first years. They don't look so bad at first, just frightened with sticky little faces. Then, after they get settled, caldrons will start exploding, after hour parties in the common room with have to be broken up, and Finch has always been more then happy to report any wrong doings.
She was especially stressed this year, seeing as she had nearly twice the number of first years compared to the other houses. Professor Snape's snide remarks at dinner about how she had her work cut out for her this year surly didn't help.
She pressed her fingers to her temples even harder squeezing her eyes shut. At least now….now she could relax.
Stomp
Stomp
Stomp
BAM!
McGonagall looked up in alarm as a girl, looking absolutely enraged burst into the room as if she had all the fires of hell behind her.
McGonagall stared with her mouth hanging open slightly, trying to place the girl. Then she remembered. The unhappy transfer student.
"I need to talk to you!" The girls stuttered pointing at the professor in her chair, seeming to be having difficulty forming coherent sentences in her rage.
McGonagall felt resentment and indignation bubble up inside her at being addressed in such a rude manor, but suppressed it for the sake of solving the situation.
"I can see that you do" The old professor replied dryly, looking at the girl who seemed to be shaking, her cheeks a crisp crimson in rage.
"I need to be resorted, right NOW!" the girl seemed quite beside herself.
"Impossible" Professor McGonagall replied simple, taking a quill and wetting the tip with her tongue.
"No. No no no no no. You DON'T understand. You DON'T," the girl's voice cracked, "I have to be resorted. Right now. NOW."
McGonagall started scribbling on a piece of parchment, for the sole purpose of keeping her calm and not snapping at this already hysteric girl.
"Like I said. Impossible. The sorting is not a game we do every year. Its tradition, and its permanent," McGonagall could go into detail for hours about the history of the hat, the importance of the hat, or the magic about the hat, but she was tired, and she wanted this girl to just let the issue go. Perhaps she could reroute this girl to go talk to the headmaster.
"You don't understand!" the girls flared up in a way McGonagall had rarely seen anyone do, much less a student to a teacher,
"For sixteen generations, SIXTEEN GENERATION! My family has been strictly, only SLYTHERINS! SIXTEEN GENERATIONS!!" The girls was so completely beside herself that her knees were buckling as she swayed dangerously as her arms lay stiff by her sides, her firsts balled up so tightly her knuckles were turning white,
"Do you know what this means? Do you know what this means to me? I am a DISGRACE! I am a DISGRACE! My family will never, they will never let me come home! Do you understand? I AM HOMELESS!"
McGonagall looked up. The girl had taken a break from yelling and was panting.
"I am homeless," the girl repeated quietly, her rage dissipating and grief strapping her body.
McGonagall looked to the girl. She felt bad. Of course she did. But there was nothing to be done.
"I know…I know your upset. And I know you have been placed in a very…a very compromising situation," McGonagall stared at the girl who's grief and anger washed away as she began to look hopeful,
"I understand the position you are in, and I am deeply regretful," the girl began to smile, wiping a lone tear from her cheek,
"Unfortunately, what's done is done. What's been decided is decided. You are in Gryffindor. I hope you can come to terms with your family"
The girl's smile went out like a light; her hopefulness was squandered like a matches flame in the rain.
She opened her mouth but McGonagall cut in,
"And I want you to know Miss…Songten is it? That if you EVER dare to speak to me again as you have spoken to me tonight, " The elderly professor let the statement hang as it was for a moment before completing the threat, "You will find yourself in an even more compromising situation, one you will deeply, deeply regret."
Miss. Songten stared at the professor, her mouth gaping like a fishes gasping for air.
Without warning, her anger exploded into a full rage, with the intensity of smashing a bottle of liquor on a flame
She said nothing. Just spun around so fast her feet nearly flew out from under her. She stormed out of the room, extending one arm to knock over a desk on her way out, causing it crash on the stone floor. She slammed the door behind her and her stomps echoed until they could be heard no more.
Professor McGonagall shut her eyes, trying to get the ringing of the crashes and yelling and stomping out of her head. She sighed, wondering how much longer she would be able to keep up with this profession, and how much longer she could keep her sanity with these young people. She again, raised her index fingers to her worn temples and massaged them, hard enough to cut of the blood circulation.
Suddenly, the first year's problems seemed more inviting to her.